


through the storm we reached the shore

by hholocene



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:51:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15551043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hholocene/pseuds/hholocene
Summary: Elizabeth contemplates the American sentimentality over love. Snapshots of her feelings leading up to 1x01. P/E





	through the storm we reached the shore

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, do I love these two.
> 
> Title taken from 'With or Without You'

What is the American obsession with love? She wonders.

 

It’s all that the Americans ever sing about, write about, make movies about. No other preoccupation that holds their mind in quite the same way.

 

Philip likes to try the words out for effect. Always in public, of course. Romantic stories relayed to new neighbours and acquaintances.

 

_We fell in love in Chicago._

 

_I knew I loved her the day I met her._

 

_I love you, sweetheart._

 

She stomachs it with a breezy smile, perfectly plays the part of newly weds.

 

_I love you too, honey._

 

It sickens her to the core.

 

“You could tone it down,” she admonishes him afterwards.

 

“What?” Philip feigns ignorance.

 

“I knew I loved her the day I met her, _c’mon._ ”

 

“We are _meant_ to be in love,” he points out, a bite in his words.

 

She holds his gaze, brazenly defiant.

 

“We are meant to be pretending.”

 

. .

 

Gregory says the words to her with ease. After sex, with a joint shared between them.

 

He presses his lips against her neck, then her cheek, her lips. He strokes her hair, and she lets him, relaxing under his touch.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs, looking deep into her eyes.

 

She is silent, letting the words wash over. It’s not a surprise, but there’s still a pleasant tinge of vindication in hearing them outloud.

 

She kisses him in answer, and for him it is enough .

 

. .

 

The night she gives birth to Paige, the words slip out from Philip.

 

When the nurse brings him in, he is the picture of a proud American dad. His eyes are glassy, face unbearably soft. Focused on her and _their_ baby in her arms.

 

He coos over his new daughter, a beaming smile stamped permanently across his face.

 

Elizabeth watches them, and she feels her chest tighten.

 

Her daughter is lucky to have him, she thinks.

 

She remembers crying at Gregory’s place, lamenting over her fake husband and soon-to-be fake family.

 

Philip looks at her, the stupid-- but in truth, charming-- grin on his face.

 

She gives him a small smile, and his expression mellows, although still overflowing with sincerity.

 

He leans closer, presses a kiss against her forehead.

 

“I love you,” he whispers.

 

She stiffens when she hears the words but she doesn’t push him away or scold him.

 

Philip gives her another smile, then returns his attention to their daughter.

 

She keeps watching them, father and daughter already tightly bonded.

 

. .

 

“It’s so sweet,” Mrs. Coleman remarks gleefully. “Peter, don’t you think it’s sweet?”

 

Elizabeth lifts her eyes from her paperwork to observe the old couple in front of her. She curses Philip for leaving minutes earlier.

 

“What is?” she is forced to ask.

 

“The way your husband looks at you, anyone can see how much he loves you,” Mrs Coleman explains like it is the most obvious thing. Her husband grunts in agreement.

 

Elizabeth laughs, hopes it sounds natural.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

“Marriage is tough. All these kids today, they give up too easily,” Mr. Coleman complains.

 

“Don’t start, Peter. You’ll scare the poor thing.”

 

“No, it’s okay,” Elizabeth assures. She is contemplative for a moment. “Marriage _is_ tough.”

 

Mrs. Coleman smiles. It’s meant to be understanding but it strikes her more as condescending.

 

“It’s worth it when you have the right person.”

 

Elizabeth smiles politely, returns her attention to filling out their receipt. She is used to these comments by now. At the beginning, she would have never thought that their _marriage_ would have been an asset to the travel agency too. But the Americans love the idea of doing business with a loving, married couple. Philip picked up on it quickly, always sure to play up to their client’s romantic ideals. Maybe his own, she often suspected.

 

“They’re such sentimental fools,” Elizabeth had complained once.

 

Philip had shrugged.

 

“It’s nice--” Elizabeth throws him a bitter look. He tries again, “People want to believe that love is real, that they can have it too.”

 

Elizabeth scoffs, “It’s very _American_.”

 

He gives her a quizzical look, but says nothing. He wants to comment that she loves their children, but he knows it will only piss her off even more.

 

. .

 

“He’s so,” she searches for the correct word in frustration. _Weak_ , had been what she had said to his face. She remembers how his face had crumpled, the look of hurt she hadn’t anticipated. Repeating it again to Gregory feels like a cruel second blow.

 

“He coddles the kids,” she instead accuses. “They’ll grow up not able to take care of themselves.”

 

To her side, Gregory sighs. He watches her take another puff of her cigarette, his eyes falling on the silver of her wedding ring.

 

“Why don’t you leave him?” he suggests.

 

“What?” Elizabeth is a mix of shock and outrage. “Are you crazy?”

 

“I mean it, Elizabeth,” he repeats. “It’s 1979, things are changing. You don’t need him anymore.”

 

“It’s not that simple,” she says. “The Centre wants us together. Our cover is stronger together.”

 

Gregory gives her a perturbed look.

 

“You know what I think, I think you like being married to him.”

 

The disgust on her face grows deeper.

 

“That’s not at all--,” She stops, glares at him viciously. “Seriously, fuck you.”

 

She doesn’t wait for any apologies or explanations. She storms out of his place and drives. She sits in a parking lot somewhere, and tries to force the anger out of her system.

 

Gregory was meant to be her refuge. Her escape when things with Philip became unbearable.

 

She doesn’t want to think about it, but his words stick with her.

 

_You like being married to him_

 

Unbidden flashes of memories come to her mind. Philip hurling a snowball at her while their kids giggle in the background. Breakfasts on a Sunday morning with her family at the kitchen table. His gentle hands on her abdomen, meticulously applying bandages after an operation gone bad.

 

She blinks furiously, struggles to keep her emotions at bay.

 

Reluctantly, she finds a payphone, calls Gregory. They might need him for counter surveillance, she can’t have him sulking.

 

“Hey,” she begins, waits for him to speak.

 

“Hey yourself.”

 

He sounds drunk, or high, or both.

 

“Look, about before, I was stressed out,” she tries.

 

She hates doing this. It’s easier with Philip, she thinks for a moment. Simple apologies, shared over half-smiles and an affectionate squeeze of her hand.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she hears Gregory say, voice hazy.

 

“Do you?” she asks.

 

There’s a shuffle and a clink of glass on the other end.

 

“Come back here. I want to make this up to you,” he pleads softly.

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

She bites her lip tentatively, this feels like the start of another fight.

 

“I can’t,” she repeats firmly.

 

She checks the time, sees that it is already 6pm. Her mind thinks of Paige and Henry, wonders if Philip is taking care of dinner. The guilt gnaws at her.

 

“Elizabeth,” she hears Gregory say. His voice is confident. “You’re amazing. Nobody can make you do anything. Not me, not Philip--”

 

“I can’t,” she stops him before he says anything further. Something incriminating.

 

It’s a comically bad observation. Her whole life is a series of choices dictated by other people.

 

. .

 

The snap of a neck, and then a thud. Suddenly, it all changes.

 

She looks at Philip, and she finally sees a man who loves her. Who is ready to do anything for her.

 

It is incomprehensible.

 

When they drive to dispose the body, her eyes keep drifting to him. Taking him in. Has he changed, or has she?

 

There’s a part of her brain that tells her _it_ was always there. She could have always trusted him, chosen him instead of choosing Gregory.

 

She swallows the thought away.

 

Philip is unflinching in meeting her gaze. Patient in allowing her to lead. A lifetime of waiting coming to fruition.

 

Kissing him is more passionate than she remembered. But then, everything feels seismically different. She keeps her eyes open and so does he. They come undone in a heady mix of controlled energy.

 

When they return to their house, Philip lingers for a moment too long at their bedroom door. Elizabeth turns, sees him standing and reads him perfectly. Everything will return to normal, he must be thinking.

 

She starts undressing, not shying away from his stare. When she is naked, she silently climbs into their bed. She shuts her eyes, waiting for him to follow suit. It’s only minutes until she hears the lights switch off. The mattresses dips next to her and she feels hands cradle her face.

 

In the darkness, she sees Philip. Gentle and tender, he rests his forehead against hers. Lips hovering with just a hint of uncertainty. She closes the gap and brings his body flush against her.

 

 _I love you,_ she nearly feels like whispering.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tempted by a second chapter that explores Elizabeth's feelings over the canon period. Let me know if you would be interested in reading that.
> 
> As always, reviews are lovely.


End file.
